


Marius

by Iris_the_Messenger



Series: Sylveth Prompts [2]
Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Blue Lions Route, F/M, Family Drama, Illegitimate Children, No beta we die like Glen! (cries), Post-Timeskip, Romance, mention of past rape
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:14:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iris_the_Messenger/pseuds/Iris_the_Messenger
Summary: Sylvain often dreamed of the future, happy and content with his beloved, unaware the tragic mistakes that would come back to haunt him.Day 2 of Sylveth, prompt: Heal
Relationships: Sylvain Jose Gautier/My Unit | Byleth
Series: Sylveth Prompts [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2021279
Kudos: 44





	Marius

**Author's Note:**

> How are these one-shots, which were meant to be 1k at the most, turning into 3k monsters?!
> 
> Fair warning, this is heavy with exposition, which I just can't seem to avoid these days when I write. It was meant to be short, but clearly got away from me, so apologies if it seems to run on a bit in some areas or seem clunky (I am also posting these with no beta, so I expect errors)
> 
> There is mention of past rape; I apologize if this offends anyone, I have tried to tag appropriately.
> 
> Day 2 of Sylveth, prompt: Heal

Sylvain often dreamed of the future.

It seemed a safe enough practice, with the end of the war and the victory of prince Dimitri and his loyal followers assured. Once the dust had settled, and their enemies laid down their banners and arms, the former students of the Blue Lions set to work restoring their lands and moving forward.

Dimitri was crowned king.

Byleth was crowned the new Archbishop.

Together, they promised a new era of peace and change for the kingdom and the entirety of Fódlan as a now united land. There was a lightness in the air, and the people of the new kingdom of Faerghus rejoiced.

Following the coronations, a series of weddings and celebrations followed, the likes of which would be the talk of the kingdom for years to come.

One such wedding was that of the kingdom's newly crowned archbishop, to one of the king's most trusted generals and childhood friends.

A minor scandal to some wagging tongues, as said general, Sylvain himself, was once well known for his less than savory reputation as a philanderer in his younger days. Said gossips were promptly silenced when their beloved archbishop, the head of The Church of Seiros and their literal savior declared her love and devotion before all on the steps of the very monastery where they'd met so many years ago. Sylvain, by her side, and with no hint of insincerity or hesitation, had answered her declaration and vows in kind.

Sylvain had always assumed the woman standing before him at his wedding altar would be a woman of noble breeding and high standing, but essentially a stranger to him. When he was younger he pictured his future wife, faceless, but beautifully dressed all in white and finery befitting her rank. He grew to hate her, this nameless, faceless woman who would sentence him, and his unborn progeny, to a lifetime of misery.

But that nightmare hadn't come to pass. Instead, he stood before the fierce, warrior woman he had chosen for himself, and who had chosen him in turn, reciting their marriage vows before all the land and their friends with full and happy hearts.

He didn’t deserve her, no matter what she said or did, he knew. He had always been a good for nothing, gifted with so much when others had so little. Destined to a life of loveless splendor and prestige, he played the part he was expected to play. Give people a reason to hate him, despite all his wealth, talent and privilege.

The one saving grace in his wretched life had always been his friends; Dimitri, Felix and Ingrid. His family in all but blood, but really, when had blood mattered when it counted? What had blood meant for his brother, Miklan, in the end?

Nothing.

All blood had ever meant to Miklan was hatred and failure. Hate for his kin’s abandonment and betrayal. Hate for his younger brother who bore their line’s precious crest while he, the elder and crestless, was deemed a failure of the very noble blood he carried.

What was the saying?  _ The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.  _ Whether he lived to see the next sunrise, or died in the mud and dirt didn’t matter to him, so long as the others were safe.

Byleth had changed all that. Had shown him another path, one he could forge for himself. Live his life the way he wanted, and not the one that had been set out for him.

She tried to argue he had done it all himself, in the five years she was gone, when she should have been there by their side, her beloved lion cubs had banded together and pulled themselves up on their own. They’d grown up to be fierce lions, protecting their lands and in the absence of their would-be king, Sylvain had stepped up to lead them.

He had countered, citing her as his inspiration and role model. His jealousy and hatred of her had faded, revealing more fragile, desperate feelings. It was the thought of her, and all she had taught them, taught him, that pushed him forward. To be there for the others when she could not, to honor her memory and take accountability for himself and his actions.

During the war he’d stood by her side, and he pledged to continue to do so in marriage. They always presented a united front, despite the rumors that still followed him from his past. It didn’t matter, Byleth knew him, knew where his heart and soul lay and he had no eyes for any save her. Compared to her, who could compare?

Sylvain proved himself as his holiness’ most loyal and devoted knight and husband. His adoration of her was such that new rumors began to sweep through the land, accusing Byleth of some manner of witchcraft. How else had she managed to enrapture the kingdom’s most notorious philanderer as her husband?

They were a team, in all things. Sylvain, well-versed in politics and courtly intrigue, was crucial in helping Byleth establish negotiations and navigate among the nobility. His wit and quick tongue, once used to woo and beguile, now served a grander purpose as they strived to create the changes they sought within the church and the nobility. 

The backing of Byleth’s position, as head of the church and as a war hero, helped them, and their allies, a great deal in seeing these changes come to life. And these changes didn’t stop inland, as the couple had set their eyes past their borders to Sreng, Brigid and Almyra. Sylvain had long desired more peaceful negotiations with the tribesman who lived on the outskirts of his family’s land, and now he was in a position to do so, with his wife’s full blessing.

They both had agreed that the country had spent enough time isolated from the rest of the world, locking themselves away and stifling the people. And after a conversation with Dimitri, they were pleased to find the newly crowned king was not only in agreement, but added the restoration of the people of Duscar to their list as well. 

It was time to heal all wounds, and make peace so that they, and their descendants, could all grow and move forward.

It was an arduous task, and they had so much on their plates as it was with just the restoration of their own lands, but it would be worth it in the long run. Better to make alliances now, than to wait for their neighbors to take advantage of their weakness and send them all into another war. They already had the groundwork half laid before them, thanks to the friendships the Archbishop had already made in her former students.

It was hard work, and their duties often pulled them apart but Sylvain and Byleth remained strong in their relationship. Their love never wavering. 

They savored the time they had together when possible, deciding early in their marriage to spend half the year at Garreg Mach, where Byleth held court and entertained the nobility, and the other half in relative peace and quiet at Gautier castle. Sylvain’s family home. Where the couple entertained paperwork rather than people, and while tedious, they preferred it that way. It gave them a vacation of sorts, away from the tiresome nobility and watchful eyes. 

Sylvain loved it, no endless meetings to pull them apart or Seteth, constantly breathing down his neck and his ever-present glare of disapproval and distaste at monopolizing the archbishops time. It could just be the two of them, on their own for the most part, spending their days as a proper husband and wife should.

His own parents had retired to another estate, still within Gautier territory, but far enough away to give Sylvain some peace as the new Margrave. Staying out of his hair and the changing politics of the land.

Leaving him and Byleth as heads of the household, a thought that further excites and comforts him as he makes his way to her now.

Pulling the reins of his horse to a halt, Sylvain found himself arriving late to his family’s estate, the sun having set hours ago, leaving him in darkness. So eager had he been to reunite with his love after a month apart, he had forgone the carriage Dimitri had arranged for his own mount.

He had wanted to get back to his wife as soon as possible, they’d already been separated for far longer than he’d liked. All aches and pains gained from the hard journey were forgotten, as he all but leapt off his horse, leaving her to the care of the stable boy as he made his way to the castle’s grand steps in long strides.

Growing up, Sylvain had never held much affection for the cold, stone walls of his home. But now it had become a sanctuary for him and his bride, the stone even felt warmer and the dour halls brighter. 

Passing through the large doors, one of the many maids (Maudie he thinks her name is) greets him somberly. Taking his coat with a small, respectful smile. She is a pleasant woman, well into her forties, and has been with them for almost six months now.

As pleasant and welcoming as her motherly face was, or what he imagines a motherly face to be as his own was never so warm or kind, her’s is not the face he is anxious to see.

No, the face he seeks is that of his beloved’s. It’s been a long month away from her, helping Dimitri and Felix go over various territory disputes and legalities while Byleth remained at his family estate. Arriving a few weeks ahead of him, she had been acting in her new role as both the Margravine and Archbishop. Getting acquainted with their lands, and offering aid and supplies to the nearby villages and towns still recovering from the war.

“Welcome home, love”

He turns at the sound of her voice.

She sounds like home, and he has been so very homesick.

All he sees at first is her. Her pale, mint green hair is done in a simple, loose braid that hangs over her shoulder. She’s been so busy, like the rest of them, that she’s allowed the once choppy locks to grow well past her shoulders. He likes it, it's a good look on her, and he loves to play with it when they are alone. Letting the soft, freshly washed and dried tresses fall between his fingers.

Those same tresses, currently being gripped in the clutches of plumb, stubby fingers.

He stops, mid-step. His smile vanishing as he took in the full image of his wife, her neutral expression, and the child in her arms.

Sylvain had dreamed of such a scene before, in his quieter moments. Coming home only to be greeted by his beloved, welcoming him home with a warm smile, and a fresh faced babe resting soundly in her arms.

They had talked of the children they would have, the thought no longer terrifying to him as it once had been. Because they would be born from love, not necessity, and wholly his and Byleth’s.

Except, the child resting on his wife’s shapely, firm hip was not a rosy cheeked newborn. They were well over six years old, with a full head of hair and long, well proportioned limbs appropriate for his age and Sylvain felt that old terror begin to creep along his spine in awareness.

Byleth and he had only been married for less than two years and had only been intimate with one another a little more than that. They had begun their relationship mid-war, there was no earthly amount of time for them to conceive a child that size, let alone for Byleth to give birth to one.

Which meant, the child had been conceived and born before…

“Byleth, I…who is...this child?”

He choked on the words. Afraid almost to give them life, to release them, because then that would make this horror all the more real. Was it true? Had he slipped, in his past. Had he left a woman, one of many he had laid with in his youth in his ill-conceived effort to numb his pain and insecurities, with his bastard.

A Gautier bastard, no less.

There was no mistaking that shock of red hair, or those soft, brown eyes. Wide and innocent, as the boy stared at him in child-like curiosity.

He’d finally done it, hadn't he?

He’d ruined it. He'd ruined it all.

His sweet dreams of him and Byleth, of starting a family of their own, of leaving the past behind so that they could walk together, hand-in-hand, towards the future. A future they would create, where crests and station would become nothing more than a footnote in history. A mere memory, gathering dust on a future historian’s shelf.

His dream was now turning into a nightmare.

"Maudie, could you take Marius and get him settled for the night. The Margrave and I have much to discuss"

Dutifully, the maid at his side moved, plucking the child from Byleth's arms. She offered Byleth a quick bow, before disappearing upstairs with the boy. Sylvain watched them, dumbstruck, eyes glued to the child until he could see neither.

Marius. The child’s name was Marius.

The name echoed in his mind, deafening, and Sylvain suddenly found it hard to breath.

“Byleth...where did he come from?!” He was shaking, from anger or fear, he didn’t know. 

All he knew was he couldn’t bear to look at his wife, couldn’t bear to see the disapproval in those brilliant jade eyes of her’s. All-seeing and penetrating. He’d fall apart if he tried, he knew that much.

“An older man, a retired farmer, approached me with the boy in tow when I and a small entourage of healers travelled to one of the smaller settlements not far from here,” Byleth began, her tone even and calm. 

He’d heard her use a similar tone with Dimitri, back when he was still half-mad, the gentle lull of her voice meant to keep him from acting irrationally as his thoughts ran from him. She probably feared he’d run off, like some scared animal.

She wasn’t wrong, it was tempting. To just run away, wallow in his grief, cursing the folly of his youth. 

It was the shock that kept his legs petrified, unable to move from where he stood. But where would he run? Back to Dimitri? To Felix? He wasn’t that irresponsible youth anymore, he didn’t run from his problems. He faced them head on, with Byleth by side he...Byleth.

“Oh, goddess By...” he fell to his knees, his legs finally giving out from the sudden stress. His mind reeling. "Please, I didn't know...I…"

He’d beg, he didn’t care for how long, he’d beg for her forgiveness. But how could she forgive him for this?

She had done it once before, back when she had taken his hand in her own that evening so many nights ago. Amid war plans and blood-stained armor, the toll of the war evident in both their eyes, tired from too many sleepless nights.

She had kissed him, held him as tightly as he had held her, and dismissed all he had done before. All he had once been, the trail of broken hearts he’d left behind and the pain he’d brought so many, including himself.

He didn’t deserve her, he’d always known that, this newest transgression only served as further proof.

He barely registered her as she moved, rushing to kneel before him. He feels the warmth of her hands on his face, still cool from his long ride in the cold. He doesn’t deserve to feel this, her touch, her compassion.

“He’s not yours, Sylvain”

Byleth’s words, rushed and breathless, cut through his spiraling thoughts, and he focuses on her face. She is so close now, her heat familiar and comforting.

Her eyes, ethereally and kind and searching, reflected his own pain and inner turmoil as she stroked his face. “Do you hear me? He is not yours, the old man who left him with me, he told me everything. Will you listen, love?”

He nods, still unable to speak, to find the right words.

It doesn’t matter, his words were not important. Only hers are. Byleth spoke calmly, and goddess it was one of the things he loved most about her. From the beginning, her patience and understanding were divine gifts that had saved many a life. Their very king owed her his very sanity, bringing him back from the brink of despair and helping him heal and lead after Rodrigues death.

“When the old farmer approached me, and I will not lie, I had the very same thoughts you have now but hear me, Syl, the boy is not yours. He's your brother, Miklan’s son.”

This revelation startles him, snapping him out of his thoughts, if only momentarily. “M-Miklan? No, what, that’s not possible…how?!”

“Yuri told me once, before we…confronted your brother and his bandits in the tower, that he had heard rumors of Miklan and his men kidnapping young women from their villages...” She let the information sink in before continuing, as Sylvain’s eyes widened in slow horror as realization dawned on him.

“They...oh, goddess. That bastard..!"

He curses, hissing at the evil his brother had committed against others. Sylvain may have taken many a lover to bed, but never against their will. Of all the crimes and evil he thought had been laid to rest with his brother’s final breath - even from the grave his brother managed to exact his revenge and misdeeds upon their family name.

Byleth continues, her words eclipsing his curses until she has his full attention once again. He listens to the story of the farmer, his wife and their poor daughter. Their only child, snatched from the safety of her parent’s home during a raid on their poor village. Led by Miklan, he and his bandits had taken everything of value from the villagers, their gold, their harvest and their daughters.

The farmer and his wife never expected to see their child again, thinking her dead and lost forever. It had been a miracle, the man said when his daughter had escaped, somehow, in the middle of the night and made her way back to them. She had been…the things they had done to her. It took months for her to heal, but she was already with child.

The farmer was furious, but the overwhelming relief that their daughter was still alive and with them once again helped soothe the offense of an unwanted child and his daughter seemed at peace despite the horror of what she had endured. The child growing in her womb was an innocent, much as she had been, and she was determined to keep it and raise it.

A good woman, with a strong will Sylvain thought. Such a sweet, benevolent soul would have made a fine mother for the boy.

But, this story had no such happy ending.

The farmer’s daughter died giving birth to the child, and the man said he would have drowned the babe to join his mother had his wife not stayed his hand. It was for her, and her grief at losing her daughter, that he helped her raise the baby in their daughter’s stead. In her memory. They knew peace for a time. The child wanted for nothing, though they were humble farmers they worked hard and lived well enough. His wife adored the boy, but the farmer was content to keep his distance.

They could have lived the rest of their lives this way, until the boy grew into a man and they could send him off on his own, to make his own way in the world. They’d never tell him about his father, or how he was conceived. The old farmer’s wife had made him swear on his daughter's grave.

But things had changed.

The man’s wife had passed away from an illness a few moons back, and, despite his best effort, he couldn’t care for the boy any longer. He was still too angry, and as much as he wanted to love his only grandchild, he couldn’t look at him and not see the Gautier cast-off that had sired him.

Hearing the new Margrave’s wife, the archbishop herself, was coming through their village to offer aid, supplies and healers, he made his choice and grabbed the child. He was their burden to bear now, their responsibility. What they decided to do with the boy was on them now, he washed his hands clean of the whole affair.

Sylvain couldn’t bring himself to hate or blame the farmer. The man had probably spent his whole life working hard for the benefit of his family, his wife and daughter, a family he no longer had. Only an unwanted child, one he couldn’t even look at, no matter the love he bore his wife and daughter.

“What do you want to do?” Byleth asks him, after allowing a few moments to pass for him to absorb the story. To let it all sink in. She knew it was a lot, and not exactly what he had been expecting first thing when he returned home.

Sylvain could give her no answer, not right away at least. He was still processing the fact that there was a child, not his child, thank the goddess, but a child nevertheless. A Gautier bastard, sired by his brother’s evil. An evil created from the hate and abandonment of his parents, all because he wasn’t born with a crest.

“We’re...certain he is Miklan’s?” He knew, in his bones, the child was indeed Miklan’s. His nephew. If the farmer’s story was true, there was no mistaking that hair, or his eyes.

“I have already…consulted Hanneman, he is of your bloodline, yes"

Hanneman. Had Byleth had the child tested for a crest? He knew she didn't care if he bore one or not, but the appearance of one would indeed prove without a shadow of a doubt that he was in fact a Gautier, and Miklan’s son.

“By…I don’t…”

A dark laugh escapes him as he runs his hands down his face, at a loss at what to do. 

What was he to say? How would they explain the boy’s sudden appearance to the rest of the kingdom? Byleth clearly hadn’t been pregnant these last nine months, and with his red hair there was no mistaking their relation. The rumors would begin, all over again, spreading like a sickness.

He didn’t want that for them, not when they had come so far. But what of Marius. It was unfair to punish the boy for things beyond his control, he hadn’t had a say in his creation or current standing, after all.

“If it makes it easier, I will help provide for the child, regardless of your decision” He knows that tone in her voice too well to try and argue, and Sylvain is grateful in that moment for his wife’s valor.

Always ready to do the right thing, without hesitation. Byleth was hardly perfect, fumbling here and there in her new role as a leader, but she did her best. Always made the best choices when it counted. She’d always been the example, the one to follow, and the Lions would have fared poorly without her for all these years.

He thought of the future they wanted, had planned for and where a child like Marius would fit.

There were no clear answers, but in the end he knew what was right in his heart. Taking a deep, steadying breath he made his decision.

“He is my brother’s son, abandoned because of his lineage. I’ll see no child suffer for that, if I have a say, ever again…” he declares, resolute.

It didn’t matter what his father had done, the monster he had become, the child was innocent of wrongdoing and deserved a chance. A chance Miklan never had. He couldn't help his brother, couldn't save him from his fate in the end but he could do right by this son. This child would never know that kind of pain and rejection.

“He stays, then” Reaching out to take Byleth's hands in his own, he relishes the warmth they share, and the strength he finds in her touch. “We can raise him, he belongs with his family. A family that will support and love him, no matter what. Crest or no crest, bastard or no. He deserves that much, doesn't he?”

His thundering heart is put at ease when she smiles up at him, like he knew she would. “Of course, Syl. We'll care for him as if he were our own. This, I promise. That’s what we are working towards, right? A new way of life, he’ll become a part of it, the change we are trying to bring to the next generation”

He pulls her close, holding her tight and whispering grateful endearments into her ear, all the while silently thanking the goddess for bringing this woman into his life. How would he have managed this without her, even if they hadn’t become what they were, lovers and partners. It didn’t matter, he needed her presence in his life.

There would be some resistance, and of course gossip, especially once his parents found out about the boy's existence but as the head of the family Sylvain had the final say in these matters. He would see to it his parents had little contact with the boy as possible, at least until he was certain they could behave themselves lest they poison the poor boy’s mind with their backwards way of thinking and bigotry.

Sylvain often dreamed of the future, and while there were many things from his past, and his wife’s, that he knew would test them he never doubted that with her strength and his resolve that they could make those dreams a reality.

For the sake of their children, and children like Marius.

**Author's Note:**

> This was an idea I had in my head after a particular comment made by Yuri before facing Miklan, making the tragedy of his and Sylvain's family history all the more upsetting at the implications, especially if there was a child left behind as a result.
> 
> Marius does bear a crest, but few actually are aware of this in the family for various reasons (Sylvain doesn't want him to be used as a pawn by his parents) and he is in fact the same Marius from my first Sylveth prompt. He is a happy, rowdy boy, well cared for and raised by Sylvain and Byleth like one their own.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
